


What a Catch

by SpaceCutie



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: M/M, but nobody can get what they want, eric just wanted a day off!, rudyard just wanted a good nights sleep!, then they get that instead, they get stuck in a rowboat together, until they find out theres other things that they want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCutie/pseuds/SpaceCutie
Summary: Eric Chapman sets out to have a nice, relaxing morning to himself. He ends up with much, much more than he bargained for when he tries his hand at fishing one day.





	What a Catch

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't tried to write fanfiction for years, but Wooden Overcoats caught my heart and I felt the strong desire to contribute in some way to the fandom. So, here's my first contribution! Hopefully this goes well. It's the thought that counts, right?

Rudyard Funn and Eric Chapman both lay in the bottom of a rowboat, the sea expanding miles around them. They stared up at the bright blue sky and listened to the cry of seagulls circling above them. Rudyard rubbed his eyes, letting out an aggravated groan.

  
“I’m beginning to think I’m forming a bad habit of this getting-lost-at-sea thing,” he complained. The other man let out a long sigh.

  
“Rudyard, have you ever been cursed? Is that a thing that’s ever happened to you? Because only so many things can happen to one man before it becomes more than just a coincidence.”

  
“Oh, I’ve been cursed many times,” he mused, draping an arm across his eyes to block them from the sun. “Everyone gets cursed. It’s practically a bi-monthly event for me.”

  
“I’ve never been cursed!” Eric protested.

  
“Of course you haven’t,” grumbled Rudyard. “This is all your fault, you know.”

  
“Wh- My fault?!” he squawked, sitting up quickly and rocking the boat a bit. “You’re the one sleeping in a rowboat that’s not even yours!”

  
“Now see here-”

 

This is the bit where we must go back a few hours to explain how our two undertakers ended up stranded at sea with each other. It was a normal Tuesday morning for Piffling Vale, and there was a soft fog rolling across the shore. Eric Chapman walked to the beach with a fishing pole, tackle box, and a bright smile. He took in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the sea at sunrise.

In a small cove on the sand lay a large, simple rowboat, belonging to the island’s newspaper editor, Sid Marlowe. Eric had mentioned wanting to try his hand at fishing, and Sid had happily offered his old boat for Eric to use whenever he pleased, claiming he hadn’t been on it in years and didn’t want it to just sit there for ages.

  
So, Eric set his pole and tackle box in the rowboat and began pulling it out to sea. The only other thing in the boat was a large blue tarp, which Sid had said the oars were under. When Eric had the boat far enough in the water he jumped in and felt very pleased with himself as the early wind began taking him quickly from the shore. He didn’t bother to get out the oars yet, instead letting the elements guide his course naturally as he fiddled with baiting his line.

 

Meanwhile, Rudyard Funn was sleeping soundly. He was oddly relaxed, dreaming that he was being rocked gently by the sea. The poor man had been so exhausted recently with all of his running about the village and trying to secure sales. Business was as bad as ever, thanks to his rival: Eric Chapman.  
It would be accurate to say that almost all of Rudyard’s thoughts had revolved around his self-proclaimed rival for a good while now. His sole goal in life had become beating Chapman in any way he could; preferably, in sales. He wasn’t close to accomplishing this yet.

  
However, he still worked hard every day, which is why such an easy sleep was more than welcome to Rudyard. The only issue is that his dream of being gently rocked was starting to become less gentle. In fact, it was starting to make him feel rather sick. He began to wake, and found that the rocking sensation didn’t fade with his dreams.  
Opening his eyes to the familiar blue of the tarp that kept him warm at night, Rudyard took a moment to assess what was happening before he moved. So, the rocking was very much real, and not a dream. He could hear the sea and the gulls, but this wasn’t unusual. What was unusual, however, was a cheery humming he could hear close by.

  
Rudyard slowly sat up, the tarp hanging onto him as he did so. He saw the sea in front of him as he looked off the edge of the boat he faced. Instantly he heard a terrified shout behind him, followed by a loud splash. He removed the tarp off of his shoulders and turned around, seeing an open tackle box and fishing pole sitting at the bottom of the boat.  
Right next to the boat, floating in the water, was an unfortunately familiar face.

  
“Rudyard?!”

  
It was, of course, Eric Chapman. Rudyard only wished that he could be surprised at this. He scowled down at the man treading water, who looked up at him in utter shock.

  
“Are you fishing in my bed, Chapman?”

  
“Bed?! You-” Eric took a moment to splash his arms in frustration. He had wanted a quiet morning. A nice, quiet, relaxing morning, just him and the fishes. He didn’t even actually care if he caught anything! He had just wanted time to himself. He enjoyed the people of Piffling Vale very much, but everyone needs a bit of time alone. This was supposed to be Eric’s. Now it wasn’t.

  
“Just help me back up before the fish steal my shoes,” he said in personal defeat, grabbing the edge of the rowboat so Rudyard could help pull him in. However, Rudyard didn’t.

  
“No. This is my boat. Go get your own boat.”

  
“This is Sid Marlowe’s boat!”

  
“Ah, incorrect! This _was_ Sid Marlowe’s boat. I claimed it two years ago as a nice napping spot, so it’s mine now.”

  
“Well, I don’t think Sid knows you’ve ‘ _claimed_ ’ it, because he lent it to me so I could go fishing!” Eric pulled himself into the boat, almost causing it to flip over if Rudyard hadn’t leaned the other way to correct the balance. He now lay splayed out in the boat, button-up and slacks soaked and dripping.

  
While the other caught his breath, Rudyard caught himself staring at how Eric’s clothes now clung so tightly to his skin. _Of course_ he had to be wearing white. There should have been some kind of rule against it, if you asked him. Undertakers were not supposed to be _sexy_ ; they were supposed to get the body in the coffin in the ground on time. Anything else was just absurd.

  
“Are you even listening to me?”

  
Rudyard was broken from his inner monologue quickly.

  
“Am I what…?”

  
Eric sharply sighed in annoyance. “Why are you sleeping in a boat?!”

  
“Because Antigone told Georgie to use my bed to make coffins! So, _logically_ , I used my best nap spot as my new bed. It’s spacious, the tarp keeps me warm, and the sounds of the sea help me sleep. Is that _alright_ with you, Chapman?!” he snapped.

  
Eric frowned.

  
“This is really your bed?”

  
Rudyard nodded, arms crossed tightly.

  
“What on earth…? Rudyard, have you told anybody about this?”

  
Rudyard suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. He looked slowly to the other’s face to see an expression of genuine concern. Eric wasn’t supposed to be concerned for him. Eric was supposed to laugh at him for being too poor to afford a bed- or even proper coffin materials.  
No one had ever been concerned about him before. Well, sure, people would get worried when he did things like throw a Chapman look-alike into the ocean or become the source of several riots, but that was more of a public welfare concern than anything personal. However, in this moment, Eric Chapman seemed genuinely concerned for Rudyard Funn’s personal wellbeing.

  
This just wouldn’t do.

  
Rudyard glared at Chapman and spoke with a bite in his tone. “People don’t exactly go around talking about their sleeping arrangements, do they, Chapman? I happen to like sleeping in my boat, thank you very much! Just because I don’t have a big, feathered- _whatever_ bed, that everyone in Piffling wants to get into, doesn’t mean I’m not happy! I don’t need your pity!”

  
Eric’s brows raised at Rudyard’s sudden outburst. He moved to sit up properly in the boat, crossing his legs and leaning his back against one of the cross-boards. He clapped his hands onto his knees and sighed.

  
“You’re right, Rudyard. I’m sorry for assuming you were unhappy.”

  
Rudyard paused. Chapman didn’t sound sarcastic. Eric continued to be kind, and Rudyard was running out of things to snap at him for. This really was becoming a completely terrible morning.

  
“I want to go back to shore, I’m getting seasick,” complained Rudyard. Eric exhaled sharply and nodded.

  
“Yeah, alright,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair. Rudyard only stared for a moment before forcing himself to look out at the water instead. “Pass me the oars.”

  
Rudyard suddenly stiffened. Eric knew instantly that this meant something was wrong.

  
“Rudyard… would you _please_ pass me the oars?”

  
There were a few moments of heavy silence as Eric stared at Rudyard and Rudyard stared at the sea. The shorter man shifted nervously.

  
“I got rid of the oars,” Rudyard confessed quickly.

  
“Unbelievable!” shouted Eric, throwing his arms up in frustration.

  
“I wanted more space! They took up so much room! I didn’t think I’d ever need them because I never planned on actually putting the boat in the water!” Rudyard continued to ramble excuses while Eric held his head in his hands.

 

The next hour and a half was spent accepting the fact that Rudyard and Eric were officially lost at sea, and that they were probably going to die because of it. The two of them laid the tarp out on the bottom of the boat to make it more comfortable to lay on. While it was rather large for a rowboat, it was still a squeeze for them, shoulder-to-shoulder on the tarp.

  
“This is rather ironic,” Rudyard commented, folding his hands over his chest as he blankly stared at the sky. Eric said nothing in response. He looked over at the other, waiting for him to ask what he was talking about. He didn’t.

  
“Chapman, ask me what’s ironic,” he demanded. Eric closed his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head as a pillow.

  
“Alright, Rudyard… I’ll ask you what’s ironic if you’d hand me the bottle in the bottom of my tackle box.” He spoke lazily, the other uselessly glaring at him. Rudyard argued with himself, trying to decide if he wanted attention enough to sit up and get something for Eric. As the silence went on he let out a huff and nabbed the tackle box.  
He dug around, shifting away different lures and brightly colored little rubber fish. In the bottom he found a simple silver flask and pulled it out. He gave it a small shake. Half-full. Rudyard closed the box back up and laid down again. He set the flask on Eric’s chest instead of waiting for him to grab it.

  
“Ah, cheers,” said Eric as he opened the flask and took a long swig. When he finished he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and held it out to Rudyard. “Drink?”

  
“Well, I am a little parched,” he mumbled, taking the flask and drinking a mouthful. However, before he could swallow, Rudyard spit out the whiskey onto Eric and the boat. They both began yelling at the same time as Eric shot up.

  
“What was that for?!”

  
“I thought it was water!”

  
“Why would it be water?!”

  
“I wanted some water and I was hopeful!”

  
Eric looked down at his shirt with a frown, examining the brown stains now formed on it. He took a moment of thought. “What’s even the point?” He began unbuttoning his shirt and discarded it at the end of the boat with the tackling box and fishing pole. He took the flask back and drank another swig before laying back down.

  
While Eric relaxed, Rudyard could almost see the cracks in his world that just occurred. His head spun and he laid back down next to a now half-naked Eric Chapman, who looked like he couldn’t care less about the situation at hand. Rudyard’s entire body was stiff with awkwardness.

  
“So, Rudyard, what’s ironic?” asked Eric, finally. It took him a good few moments before he could find his voice to reply. It came out a few octaves higher than it normally did.

  
“Well…” Rudyard begun, clearing his throat when his voice broke, “who’s going to do our funerals?”

  
Nothing but the sounds of the sea and the gulls were heard. Rudyard was seriously debating drowning himself when Eric suddenly burst out in laughter. He looked over at the laughing man like he had grown a second head.

  
Eric laughed hard, clutching his stomach and smiling wide. The sight did something terrible to Rudyard’s heart. Before he could realize what was happening, he was smiling as well, a breathy laugh coming from his chest. He wouldn’t even try to deny that Eric did actually look really, really handsome.  
Rudyard took the opportunity to look at the other and memorize the curves of his face as Eric continued to laugh. Maybe the others in Piffling Vale did know what they were talking about when they drooled over the newest undertaker. He told himself they were still rivals, and always would be; but, there’s no harm in looking, is there?

  
Neither of them know how long they spent laughing together then.

 

However, other instances were easier to keep track of.

“I’m so bored,” grumbled Rudyard loudly, digging through the tackle box.

  
“You know,” Eric said after a wide yawn, “two hours ago I started taking a swig every time you said that. I’m all out of whiskey now.”  
Rudyard groaned dramatically. He laid back down next to Chapman dejectedly. Glancing over he noticed the other was smiling to himself.

  
“What’s with you?”

  
“Huh?”

  
“You’re smiling.”

  
Eric only smiled wider when he realized. Rudyard’s heart could only take so much of this.

  
“I was just thinking,” he began as Rudyard turned to face him so he could listen better, “of all the people to get stuck on a rowboat with, I’m quite nearly glad it’s you.”

  
Rudyard felt his face heat instantly. Eric went on as he continued to watch the clouds drift above them.

  
“You’re a very organic person, Rudyard. You live in your own world. You never let anything stop you. I admire that a lot. I don’t think I’d still be in business if you used your powers for good instead of evil.”

  
Rudyard scoffed. Eric turned to lock eyes with him. He froze. The other’s face bore no shred of teasing or malice. Here they were, stranded in the ocean because Eric wanted a morning off and Rudyard had taken the oars out of the boat a year and a half previously. There was the strongest possibility that they were both doomed to die in the rowboat, but Eric was still being genuinely kind to him.

  
Getting punched in the jaw would have shocked him less.

 

Later, Eric was awoken by a handful of water suddenly splashing onto his face. He sat up with a start, coughing and rubbing the saltiness out of his eyes.

  
“Ah, finally!” Rudyard said, drying his hands on his pantlegs. Eric was about to snap at him for the rude awakening, but was caught off-guard when he saw that the other man was as equally as shirtless as he was, cheeks flushed with exertion and dark hair pushed back with sweat. He stopped himself from commenting on just how thin the other man was and instead made a mental note to start inviting him to dinner more often.

  
“Look, I’ve made a shade!” declared Rudyard excitedly. Eric looked to the side to see that he had, indeed, made a shade. The blue tarp was now strung up to hang over a part of the boat by an incredibly elaborate setup of string and pieces of the fishing pole. It had made the boat considerably cooler and more comfortable, but Eric was hung up over a few details regarding it.

  
“Did you… break apart my fishing pole? Also… wasn’t I laying on the tarp?”

  
“You didn’t even stir when I pulled out out from under you,” Rudyard answered simply, not mentioning that the longest part of constructing the shade had been the process of getting said tarp free from under the rather heavy Eric Chapman. “As for the pole, you weren’t really planning on using it again, we’re you? It’s not exactly like we could cook anything we’d catch out here.”

  
Eric almost mentioned that he had, in fact, been planning on using his fishing pole again. If his calculations were correct then they should still be in a current that would wash them up on Piffling by the next day. He had decided not to tell Rudyard this, as it was his fault in the first place that they were out there. He sighed in acceptance.

  
“Why’d you even make a shade, anyways?”

  
“I noticed you were starting to look a tad pink,” Rudyard replied, quickly adding, “and I didn’t want to have to hear you complaining about it for hours. Yeah.”  
Eric looked down at himself and realized that he had started to get a sunburn. He must’ve been asleep for longer than he thought.

  
“Oh! Wow, thanks, Rudyard,” he said, offering a smile. The other’s cheeks darkened and he turned away quickly, muttering a “you’re welcome” under his breath.

 

As the sun began to set, Rudyard and Eric had settled into a comfortable flow of easy conversation. With the sky painted orange and purple above them Rudyard held his hands out, a loop of spare fishing line tangled between his fingers. Eric sat cross-legged in front of him, so close their knees touched as he listened intently to the other man.

  
“Alright, Eric, let’s try this again.” Rudyard didn’t know when he started calling the other by his first name, but he did notice how the other would smile slightly every time he did. “You grab the Xs, no- wait!” He pulled the line away as Eric tried to grab bits of it before he was done explaining the game for the twelfth time in a row.

  
“I can do it this time!” Eric insisted, laughing and leaning forward to grab Rudyard’s wrists and pull them back. “I promise! I’m not going to let a string outsmart me!”

  
“That’s what you said the past eleven times,” Rudyard protested, laughing along at how intent Eric was at completing a game of Cat’s Cradle. He relented and held the line out, watching as Eric carefully pinched and twisted different intersections of it until it transferred from Rudyard’s hands to his, making the shape of two candles.

  
“Aha! I did it!” Eric cheered, holding the string up in front of Rudyard’s face while smiling brightly. “No little string can get the best of Eric Chapman!” Rudyard laughed, feeling his heart flutter in his chest. He put his hands on top of Eric’s to lower them away from his face.

  
“You ready to learn the next shape?” Rudyard laughed harder as Eric’s jaw dropped.

  
“The next one?!”

  
“That was only the second.”

  
Eric hung his head in defeat. He looked down at their hands and smiled to himself. Rudyard froze when he laced their fingers together ever so slightly, the string still tangled around them. They stayed his way for a few quiet moments.

  
“How about we play a different game?” Eric’s voice came out soft and unsure.

  
“I, uh, don’t think I know any other games,” responded Rudyard slowly, heart in his throat.

  
“I can show you,” Eric parted their hands to discard the tangled line beside them. He took his time to reach up to Rudyard’s face, giving him every chance to pull away as he rested his palm on his cheek. He could feel the warmth of the other’s blush under his fingertips. “You just need to… come a little closer…”

  
Rudyard thought of everything and nothing at the same time as Eric guided their faces closer together. Was this really happening? Eric Chapman was his rival, but… did a rivalry even mean anything if they were never going to see home again? Rudyard knew that, deep-down, he always had an attraction to Eric. That’s all it ever was, though; a physical attraction. Simply a fantasy to think of late at night.

  
However, over the course of the day, Rudyard had gotten to know him in a more personal way. Eric had told stories about how he wanted to be an astronaut as a child, and Rudyard shared that he and Antigone used to play a game called “Bury the Other Alive and See If Our Parents Notice”, where they would bury each other alive and see how long it would take for one of their parents to notice. They usually didn’t at all. Eric had said he would have noticed if Rudyard was gone, and Rudyard actually believed him.

  
Uninvited emotions had formed over the hours, and Rudyard was now faced with the option to confront them or not. Usually, Rudyard would avoid confronting things at all costs. There was always the fallout to think of. Too many risks present would always prohibit him. As Eric got closer, though, Rudyard told himself to stop thinking so much for once in his goddamn life.

  
When their lips met it was intended to be tender, but Rudyard kissed back with a force that Eric was more than happy to accommodate to. Rudyard leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of Eric’s face, guiding him down onto his back and into a more comfortable position. He caught Eric’s lower lip between his teeth while he pulled away, moving down to suck dark marks into the other’s neck.

  
Eric anchored a hand in the back of Rudyard’s hair, grip tightening when the other bit down on his collarbone. His head spun from the sudden turn in a situation he had expected to have an upper hand in. Eric realized he had lost any semblance of control as Rudyard continued to coax moans out of him, hands and mouth exploring his abdomen greedily.

  
“This isn’t-ah!-how I i-imagined this going,” Eric said, trying to keep his voice steady between gasps. Rudyard paused. Eric got nervous very quickly, wondering if he had said something wrong. Rudyard moved to face him again, expression almost sly with a poorly-hidden smirk.

  
“‘Imagined’?” he asked, voice low. Eric felt his face turn red instantly at what he had implied. So much for ‘secret fantasies.’ Rudyard leaned in so their lips were almost touching. “There’s no reason in holding anything back if we’re just going to wither away on this daft boat, is there?” He followed by kissing Eric again, slipping his tongue into his mouth while he held firmly onto his slightly-sunburnt hips.

  
“A-About that,” Eric said during gasps for breath, trying to figure out how to get an upper hand here while also telling Rudyard that they weren’t actually going to die at sea. However, he couldn’t will himself to get Rudyard to slow down for a minute. In fact, as the other began kissing a trail down his chest, Eric shifted his thigh between Rudyard’s legs with force.

  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Rudyard breathed out an almost embarrassingly excited moan against Eric’s skin.

  
“About the boat, Rudyard-” Eric tried to get the other’s attention, but he was now too preoccupied with trying to get Eric’s belt undone as soon as possible. As soon as he accomplished the task at hand Rudyard tossed the belt to the side. Eric heard the splash of it hitting the water, and found that he didn’t really care.

  
“Rudyard, I- _Rudyard_!” Eric broke off in a cry as his pants were removed and a warm, wet mouth was eagerly on him. He decided then that he would just tell Rudyard about their eventual return to Piffling later on.

 

 

The next morning, word spread through Piffling Vale that a strange rowboat had washed up onto the beach. This generated a crowd of villagers that were interested in what new gossip this could possibly result in. All wanting to be one of the first to know, Eric Chapman awoke groggily to see almost half of the citizens of Piffling Vale staring down at him from around the boat.

  
“You and I have a different idea of what goin’ fishin’ means, mate,” Sid Marlowe said jokingly from the crowd. Eric and Rudyard lay tangled together in the rowboat, covered only by the blue tarp they had wrapped around themselves as a blanket in the night. He took into account everyone around them, then looked down to see Rudyard snuggled into his chest and using his bicep as a pillow.

  
“Bugger off, everyone,” Eric whispered sharply to the crowd. “He’s still sleeping.”

  
Dozens of eyebrows raised simultaneously and looks to each other were exchanged rapidly. After a few moments of collective murmuring, and one snap of a camera, the villagers all wandered off to leave the boat’s passengers alone. This was surely going to end up as an article in the paper the next day, but that was something to deal with later.

  
“Are they gone?” Rudyard asked, voice muffled by Eric’s skin.

  
“Yeah,” Eric answered, smiling as he moved his free arm to stroke Rudyard’s incredibly messy hair. “Rudyard, how many times did you try to drink the seawater when you were building the shade yesterday?”

  
A pause.

  
“How do you know I tried to drink the seawater?”

  
“Your entire mouth tasted of salt.”

  
Another pause.

  
“How do you know I tried more than once?”

  
“Because I _know_ you, Rudyard.”

  
An even longer pause.

  
“Three times.”

  
“Three times?!”

  
“You know what they say; ‘third time’s the charm’!”

  
“Not with seawater!”

  
Despite the ridiculousness, Eric found himself laughing pleasantly, still running a hand through the other’s hair. This was something that the both of them could easily and gladly get used to. Eric moved to get up, causing Rudyard to groan in protest.

  
“Come on, let’s go get a real breakfast, with some real water.” Eric helped to nudge the other up. Rudyard rubbed at his eyes and let out a long yawn. Eric stepped out of the boat first and held a hand out to the other in assistance. Rudyard took Eric’s hand and didn’t let go as they made their way to Chapman’s to have some breakfast and share a nice, long nap.

**Author's Note:**

> If you dig Wooden Overcoats then come hang out with me on tumblr @rudyardfunt !! Really, I absolutely adore talking about this podcast. You can even give me story suggestions if you like my writing. I just really love this show. :'^)


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